Philip Simpson - Tribulation

He decided that his body had suffered enough lately. He’d do it the easy way.

Waiting for Travis to descend seemed to take an eternity. When he got to the bottom, Travis looked up expectantly at Sam. Sam waved him aside. “Get out of the way,” he hissed.

Travis appeared momentarily confused and then, when he realized Sam’s intent, hurriedly moved aside. Sam put his hands straight down his sides. He gave a tiny sideways leap and then plummeted down the hole, missing the rungs by the narrowest of margins. He splashed down in a foot of water, legs spread and bent to dissipate the impact.

Travis looked at him for a moment and shook his head. Sam heard him say ‘Show off’ under his breath before the other man turned, leading Sam down the sewerage tunnel. Travis was clearly making an effort to be silent even though it was difficult in the water. Even if he had been dispossessed of his demonic senses, this would’ve told Sam one important piece of information. There were other people around. He could sense them and Travis knew they were there too. This, then, was obviously not the only access point from the Police museum to the sewers.

There was no-one else in close proximity but Sam had no idea how Travis knew this. He was being quiet as a precaution but he made no move to extinguish his candle. Sam followed, a soundless, hulking shadow at the other man’s back.

As he moved, he noticed the water. It wasn’t red which meant it was fresh and not salt water. And it was still here, proving that New York somehow had a fresh water supply. No wonder so many people were able to survive here.

Ahead of him, Travis took several turns. Some of the tunnels were so low that Sam had to stoop. They saw no-one else. No humans. No demons. Sometimes Sam could sense both. The demons from above and humans both above and on the same level as he and Travis. The only other creatures they saw were rats and cockroaches — thousands of them.

Sam estimated they’d been moving for about forty minutes when Travis brought them to a stop. On the wall next to him were more rungs leading up to an iron manhole cover about ten feet above their heads. Travis swiftly moved up the rungs. At the top, he edged the cover across and peeked out warily. Satisfied by what he saw, he moved the cover all the way across and hauled himself out, motioning Sam to follow.

Sam sighed. More iron. Always iron.

He tore some strips off his jeans. They were already in tatters anyway from their mistreatment at the hands of the Lemure so he figured it hardly mattered. He ripped more material away until they were basically long shorts, and used it to wrap his hands, careful to ensure that not one scrap of his skin was exposed.

That done, he ascended, slowly at first, wincing in advance at the expected pain. When none came, he grew more confident and raced up the rungs. He literally flew up out of the manhole, his attitude being that if he was going to make contact with the cover, it would be best to get it over and done with quickly. Fortunately he avoided it, landing next to Travis.

He looked around and found himself in what had once, by the looks of it, been a park. Now it was littered by blackened tree stumps, a desolate and barren wasteland, almost identical to Liberty state park that he’d seen earlier, now just over the water.

“Battery Park,” said Travis, appearing to read his mind. “Would’ve taken you through the Brooklyn battery tunnel but its blocked now. The Resistance thought it was a good idea. Thought they might stop the flow of demons. They were wrong, dude, so wrong.” Travis inclined his head. “This way. Got a surprise for you.”

Warily, Sam following as Travis led him along one of the paths that weaved through the once park. Something about this situation didn’t seem right. It was somehow a bit off. Then he saw it. On a clear space that had once been trees and grass, a helicopter rested, its rotors already spinning. As they got nearer, Sam could hear the wine of its motor increasing in pitch. It was readying itself to take off.

“You’d better hurry,” said Travis. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Who?” asked Sam, mystified.

Travis smiled and shrugged helplessly. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself, dude,” he said. “I’ll leave you here. Go on, get in the helicopter.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asked. “What has this got to do with you?”

“You’re gonna find out soon enough,” he said. And then he shrugged. “What does it matter?” He turned around and lifted up the long blond hair on the back of his neck. There was a tattoo there. The Mark of the Beast. Travis was in league with the Satan worshippers in the city.

He turned back to Sam and winked. “Handy little mark,” he said. “Gets you all sorts of things in this city.”

Sam turned away from him, disgusted. Suddenly, a man dressed in fatigues with insignia that Sam could only interpret as belonging to some European nation got out of the back of the helicopter and opened the rear door, clearly waiting for Sam to get in. Reluctantly, Sam did so. As soon as he was in, the door slammed shut and the chopper lifted off. Despite the situation, Sam was thrilled. He’d never been in any sort of flying craft before. The closest he’d got to flying was when an Astaroth had picked him up once. That wasn’t fun. This was.

He’d never had an opportunity to fly before the Rapture, his life being one long training session. After — well — after the Rapture, flying became a risky business. Clearly, volcanoes continued to erupt all over the world, pumping tons of ash into the atmosphere — ash that wasn’t about to go away anytime soon. Any flying craft with an air intake ran the risk of choking and becoming blocked by ash. Once that happened, the plane or helicopter would fall out of the sky. Not only that, but the constant fire storms were an occupational hazard for any would-be pilot. Sam couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d seen anything fly — including birds. They’d been some jets and helicopters at the Beightler Armory but every time he’d seen them, they were always being swarmed over by engineers and technicians, trying to sort out glitches and problems. He’d spoken to one of the engineers and been told that navigation was a huge problem too. The same atmospheric interference that was interrupting communications also played havoc with radar. Nowadays, the skies belonged to the demons.

Not today, though, it seemed. Sam felt a trifle giddy as the helicopter lifted several hundred feet in the air, giving Sam his first real look at New York. There still wasn’t much to see: a few buildings with lights and some fires that had all but burnt out. It wasn’t clear who was responsible for what. Presumably the invasion forces had powered up the buildings — Sam couldn’t imagine for a second that the Resistance would advertise their presence like that. As for the fires — that could be the work of either side, trying to burn the other out.

The helicopter suddenly banked sharply to the south, heading towards Brooklyn. It was a quick flight. The helicopter flew over Governor’s Island which was as barren and desolate as every other park he’d seen. It dipped slightly again and suddenly they were flying over docks covered with gantry cranes. The docks weren’t empty though. Almost everyone seemed to contain a ship. Not just any ship though — warships. Here was the invasion fleet.

The helicopter came into land, touching down on the helicopter platform of the largest ship. Sam was no expert but his education had touched on all military aspects. He was pretty sure this behemoth was at least a Cruiser, possibly a Battlecruiser. The ships flanking it were probably Destroyers. Whoever Sam was been taken to see, ranked highly in the invasion fleet’s hierarchy. Sam suspected he knew who.